


Stolen Moments

by Love_and_Mote



Category: NCIS RPF
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Morning Cuddles, Morning Kisses, Morning Sex, Not-So-Secret Relationship if I'm Being Honest, Posted from the Dumpster, Secret Relationship, enjoy this trash smut from a trash shipper, everyone and their sister knows about this relationship, i mean is there anything better than that?, it's like the worst-kept secret in history, seriously, the answer is no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13762764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_and_Mote/pseuds/Love_and_Mote
Summary: Basically this is what I imagine is happening with them at this exact moment.





	Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

> I am trash and this ship controls my life. This is RPF so if it’s not your thing turn back now, because it gets smutty very quickly. You’ve been warned.

There was a certain sense of privilege in getting to wake next to him, a certain luxury she was not often afforded, given the fact that he was – by marriage – meant to wake with another on most days, so given the opportunity, she reveled in it.

That slow pull to awareness from the unconscious, to wake and find the warmth of his body pressed against her, his even breaths causing the rise and fall of his chest at her back. These rare moments when she could pretend that Michael was hers, completely and without question, and she twined her fingers around his, her arm anchoring his own which was draped possessively around her.

He had told her once that he didn’t want to share her with anyone else, and she often wondered why she was expected to do the same?

But love was not often so simple, and she couldn’t help the way her heart fluttered as he would greet her at the door, kissing her gently on the neck and sending heat all the way down her spine. Every touch of his evoked a reaction, and while she sometimes resented the way she couldn’t publicly claim him, she couldn’t deny that there was absolutely no part of her that wished to push him away.

As if she could possibly resist him.

She sighed heavily and he squirmed against her, mumbling something incoherent against her skin, causing her to shiver and burrow deeper against him. Their hands were still interlocked and he squeezed her fingers, playing with the way her smaller hand fit into his and she turned her head, catching him watching her intently.

He softly pushed a piece of her hair away from her ear and kissed her there, causing a rush of heat to shoot through her at the contact. She giggled against him, gasping, “That tickles, Michael.”

“I can stop,” he teased, his words kissed along her neck and down to her shoulder, and she shuddered against him, turning around to face him.

“Don’t you dare.”

He brushed another piece of hair off her face gently – he was always so gentle, so tender – and he teased her lips with his thumb before leaning forward, kissing her softly, slowly, his eyes falling closed just as she reached around to tangle her fingers in the hairs at the back of his neck.

“Good morning,” he murmured against her lips, and she smiled, pulling him back down to kiss him again. He knew she loved these mornings, these rare moments in time when she got not only stolen nights but stolen days. Stolen weekends, even.

“Morning,” she responded when he moved away from her lips and back to her collarbone, his lips caressing the skin there. She tilted her head back to give him the access they both craved, arching her back off the bed and toward him, shifting slightly and chuckling as she felt him, hot and hard against her bare skin. “And to you, too,” she teased, speaking to his awakened appendage.

He chuckled at that, his soft smile widening into a grin as he rolled his hips toward her, showing her exactly how she was affecting him. “I just can’t seem to get enough of you, Cotes,” he breathed against her neck, kissing his way back to her lips to capture them with his own, more hungrily this time, more urgently.

She cupped his cheek and kissed him back, scratching his morning scruff with her fingernails and eagerly moaning into his mouth. Kissing Michael was familiar and yet intense – familiar in its comfort – he was, after all, someone she knew better than anyone. Decades of kissing him, onscreen and off – kissing him was like coming home at the end of a long day.

And intense – _oh,_ but it was intense, the way he poured his whole being into kissing her. The way he would cup her head against his and tilt his head so he could part her lips and claim her wholly. He never kissed anyone else like that, she knew. There was something special about the person he was when he was with her, completely and entirely naked, emotionally.

And physically, she reminded herself as he grinded his hips against her again, and she gasped for breath, a half-whimper passing through her own lips at the contact.

She would never be able to get enough of him for as long as she lived. “Michael,” she breathed, a warning, and he traced his hand down her body and between her legs, dipping his fingers between them to caress her gently, her entire body shuddering at the contact, the way he could touch he so intensely but so _tenderly,_ as if she was something to be cherished and treasured, the way these moments were meant to be.

He curled his fingers inside of her and she gasped, a pitiful, “Babe,” passing from her lips, and she kissed his forehead, reaching to tilt his head to meet her gaze. “Need you,” she breathed, rocking her hips toward him and sliding her hands down to his hips, hoping to guide him where she desperately wanted to feel him the most.

“Forgive me for wanting to draw this out a little,” he teased, though he withdrew his fingers and took himself in hand, lining himself up, feeling himself grow even harder at the warmth and wetness between her legs.

“There’s always next time,” she cooed, knowing even as she spoke that ‘next time’ might not be for a while. She banished the thought, wanting to revel in the moment and not think about the fact that she could have him now, but not always.

She absently twirled the ring he had given her around her finger. Even if he couldn’t technically be with her, he’d promised his heart to her, and that was one thing his wife would never have.

He sensed her train of thought and leaned forward, kissing her gently and bringing her back to the moment, reminding her that _she_ was the one in his arms. “Say it, Michael… please…” she paused, drawing in a breath. She needed to hear the words. “Please say it,” she begged. Michael was the only man who could make her beg and he hadn’t even entered her yet.

“I love you, Cote,” he breathed, his forehead touching hers, and he surged forward, sliding himself into her waiting heat with a deep groan.

“Oh, _Michael,”_ she groaned, sliding her hands down his back to grab his ass, digging her fingernails into his cheeks and anchoring him to her, claiming him as her own. _Mine,_ she thought as she held him against her, grunting as she felt him deep, hitting that spot that made her toes curl.

No man just seemed to _fit_ the way he did.

He was moving slowly now, wanting to draw out the pleasure as long as he could, leading them both to the highest peak in the most torturous way possible. She loved the slow roll of his hips, the way he would grunt as he filled her entirely, the slow push and pull between them, and she rocked her hips into his, meeting his rhythm perfectly.

They’d always had their own rhythm, for as long as they’d known each other.

Michael loved to start slow, to build slowly to that peak, and today was no exception. He was a tender lover, the type of man to treat her with exquisite care when she needed it the most. Oh, he could do rough and fast, making her beg for mercy as he rutted roughly against her, but some days, she just needed him to show him how much he loved and cared for her.

She slid her hands back up off of his ass, leaving one at his waist, grasping tightly and holding on as he rocked against her, beginning to pick up the pace. He rolled his hips expertly into hers, causing her to sigh and moan at each long drag of his cock.

Her other hand reached for his, grasping his arm tightly for leverage as she rocked against him, urging him on. “I love the way you feel inside me,” she breathed, kissing his bicep and then nibbling it, leaving a slight mark that she knew would not stay beyond this brief, fleeting moment in time.

One day, she vowed, she would mark him as hers for the entire world to see, that Michael Weatherly belonged to Cote de Pablo.

“Oh, _Michael,”_ she breathed again, tracing her fingers down his arm and to his hand, reaching to clasp his fingers in hers, and he grasped them, sliding their joined hands up and into her hair, a tangled mess of curls splayed out on the pillow beneath them as he began to fuck her roughly into the mattress, his every nerve ending keyed up and begging for the release that only she could draw from him. “I love you so much,” she gasped, needing him to feel the way her heart burst with longing and love for him, the desperation evident in her tone.

He buried his face in her hair, nuzzling her neck as he pressed his hips against hers, driving them both toward completion. “Cotes,” he begged, his voice cracking with the exertion, his face knotting in concentration. “I’m close,” he breathed, warning her, needing her to come first.

“I’m there, Michael, I’m…” her eyes slid closed as she threw her head back, her words leaving her momentarily. _“Mi amor, mi coraz_ _ón…”_

“English, my love,” he chuckled, knowing that she hadn’t even realized she’d slipped back into Spanish, his heart soaring at the way he could make her forget herself in the heat of passion, the way his loving brought her back to her most basic of instincts. He loved her, he loved this part of her and every part of her.

“Michael…” she begged, her fingers tightening against his own. _“Please,”_ she added. He noticed how it took a monumental effort for her to return to speaking English again, for in the throes of their lovemaking she was at her most primal, almost animalistic in the way she gripped at him and pushed him closer and closer to the edge of insanity.

He was moving at a breakneck pace now, his muscles flexing as he pumped into her, desperate for both of them to find their release. She was reaching between her legs now, working with him to bring herself over the edge, needing to soar once again. “Let me,” he begged, brushing her fingers away and taking over, rubbing her expertly, thrusting once – hard – against her, causing her to cry out from the sheer force of it.

A few more forceful rocks of his hips and she was coming, her body trembling and tingling as he drew her pleasure from her, whispering small nothings in her ear: “You are so beautiful when you’re coming,” he breathed, eliciting a shuddered sigh that triggered his own release, his body quivering with the exertion of giving so much of himself to this woman.

It had always been like this between them, this tortured but exquisite way he made love to her, and he hoped there would never come a day when she would turn away from these stolen moments he could offer her.

 _“Te amo,”_ he breathed, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. He’d told her he loved her many times before, but never in Spanish, and her eyes welled up with tears as she leaned forward and kissed him softly, their bodies still joined as they came down from their mutual high.

 _“Yo tambi_ _én, te amo,”_ she breathed, laughing at his confused expression. “I just said, ‘me too, I love you, too,” she laughed and he nuzzled his forehead against hers and breathed with her in the moment. _Mine,_ she wanted to say. She wanted to claim him.

“Soon,” he said, reading her thoughts. But how soon? He would go home tonight, to his wife, his family, and she would stay alone in this apartment, waiting for the next time he would come and speak these beautiful words and etch himself into her body and leave her forever changed.

Cote didn’t ask him to make promises. She knew he couldn’t, that he couldn’t say when he’d be free from his entanglements, and she h tried not to push him. He had made her one promise in the form of the ring she now wore, and that was enough. ‘Soon’ might be tomorrow or it might be months from now, but his heart was already hers, and she held that close to her soul.

“Stay a little longer?” she asked, feeling uncommonly vulnerable and needing the comfort his arms could provide.

“As long as I can,” he replied, and she snuggled against him, content in the knowledge that he was here _now._ Maybe it was petty of her, but she felt a small victory in the fact that Michael didn’t rush to get away from her, and that he wanted to stay with her just as much as she wanted him to.

“As long as you can,” she echoed, and she nuzzled against him and let him hold her, sighing contentedly at the way they fit together, two people on this bitch of an earth who had found each other and whose love would survive against all odds.


End file.
